Don't Jump To Conclusions
by supremedonutruler
Summary: When John spies an unexpected couple in the hospital, he discovers a shocking fact about himself that really was quite obvious.


John was just about to leave the hospital for the day when he saw them. He wasn't exactly sure why he ducked back into his office to avoid being seen, just that he didn't want to be accused of staring. Because that wasn't what he was doing, not at all. He was just shocked, that's it. Shocked that Greg Lestrade was holding and comforting a woman in a way that made it obvious they knew each other well.

 _Maybe too well_ thought John.

The army doctor had been under the belief that Greg was still single after the divorce. Never once during the many pub chats since Sherlock's death had he mentioned being back in the game. Something burned in John's chest as he watched the two get up and leave with their arms wrapped around each other's waists. John knew he'd felt this sensation before, a long time ago when he was still naïve and in medical school, but he couldn't recall the name that went with such a feeling.  
With the coast clear he left his office and started the short walk to the flat Greg had helped him find and move in to. As he walked John thought over the last year and a half since Sherlock's murder. He refused to think of it as a suicide. The first couple months had been tough for the blogger. Stuck in their shared flat with various experiments and case reports strewn about, a reminder of the man they had belonged to. Greg had come looking for him after three days of unanswered calls and texts. He found John sitting in his usual chair staring out the window with unfocused eyes, a stack of unsolved cases in his hand that Sherlock had no doubt snuck out of Lestrade's office at some point.

It was clear that John had attempted to start packing everything to get it out of sight. The DI had tried shaking John and talking to him with no response until Greg finally slapped him soundly across the face, sending the doctor's head flying to the side, and snapping him out of his stupor. Once brought back to reality Greg stayed to help him pack up the remainder of Sherlock's things, giving the shorter man's shoulder a reassuring squeeze any time John started getting caught up in the memories.  
Greg had taken him for a pint afterwards, sitting there in silence until John was ready to talk. When he did it wasn't about Sherlock or what had happened. It was about the match on the telly, and Greg went along with it, understanding that John needed a bit of normal at the moment.

It became a regular thing, meeting up with Greg once or twice a week for a pint to watch a match and talk about inconsequential matters. On the one-year anniversary of Sherlock's passing, Greg found the doctor already at the bar, two pints down and working on a third. They didn't exchange banter or pay attention to the game, just sat in companionable silence. It was that night, as the DI helped a drunk John to his new flat, that John broke down and cried for the first time since standing at the gravestone a year ago, babbling about Sherlock and all the things he had kept inside since that time. Greg listened in silence with a comforting arm wrapped around the man as John sobbed into his jacket. Neither talked about that night.  
John wasn't even sure if Greg knew he remembered, but their pub nights became better, as if John's breakdown had loosened a thread of tension they hadn't even known was there. It was then that John had really started to notice Greg. He had always considered the DI attractive, and if the older man had been available maybe John would have tried his luck. But he wasn't, and then the mess with Moriarty happened and John had little time to spend on attractions. Even during the months after the man's divorce John pressed down those thoughts because he knew Greg was hurting, even though he had known about his wife's affair.  
So John was there for him, as he had been there for John. When it was clear to John that the silver haired man was over the ordeal he had started to test the waters. Lingering touches and small flirtations thrown in to conversation. John knew that Greg had no gender preference, so either he was oblivious, or didn't feel the same attraction and was purposely ignoring it hoping John would take the hint.

That thought brought him back to the present, as what he had just seen in the hospital seemed to confirm the second theory. After all what would be the point in reciprocating if he was already taken?

As John walked up the stairs to his flat his phone buzzed with a text.

 _Still up for the pub tonight? –GL_

 _Yea. It's been a long day, I'll need it –JW_

 _First round's on me then, 8? –GL_

 _Sounds good –JW_

He put his phone away and checked the clock. Seven. _Just enough time to shower and change_ John decided. As he went about removing the antiseptic hospital smell from his person, John started questioning his reaction to the hug he'd seen. He was already aware of his attraction for his friend, but the tightness in his chest was more than just a destroyed crush, it felt deeper than that. As he replayed the memory in his mind his imagination kicked in. Replacing the woman with himself and picturing how it would feel to be held by those strong arms, his own wrapped just as tightly around the other man. He thought of what it would be like to have Greg's calloused hands running down his back and over his arms, nails digging in as they ravaged eachother. How those same hands would look holding his own. The platinum ring standing out against the tanned flesh of Greg's left hand.

John was quickly brought out of his fantasies by that thought. In all the times John had pictured those scenarios, which was admittedly quite often, there had never been a wedding ring on either of their fingers. When he thought back to the image, he knew it wasn't Greg's old ring. And anyways John would never fantasize about a married man; it went against his morals. And that left John with one explanation, he had fantasized about not just fucking Greg. But being married to him. Surprisingly the idea didn't sound as odd in his head as he thought it would. _It doesn't matter_ he told himself as he stepped out of the shower and began to dry off. _He's taken again. He's not interested in you at all._ The thought stung him, and brought back that same burning sensation in his chest, but this time he knew what it was. Jealousy. Jealousy for the woman that had taken his Greg. _No, not your Greg. He'll never love you back._ John stopped in his tracks outside his flat. Suddenly the last couple hours made sense. The burning jealousy, the pain at seeing them together. Even his fantasy fit with this new development.  
 _He's still taken_ He reminded himself as he tried to push all thoughts of Greg and this new revelation out of his mind as he hurried to not be late. He had almost succeeded in his endeavor when he stepped into the pub until he saw the older man. He was sitting at their usual table, wearing a fitted black t-shirt and dark wash jeans that John knew hung low on his hips and in no way hid the powerful muscles underneath. The army doctor knew this night would be even more torturous than he originally thought with the DI looking as good as he did. Greg spotted him and waved him over, but it wasn't until he was a few feet away that John realized there was another person already at the table. _Forget torture_ , he thought as he recognized the woman sipping on her cocktail, _this is Hell._

John took his usual seat next to Lestrade as the other man placed a beer in front of him. He gulped down almost half of the pint before he felt like he could talk without glaring "was it really that bad?" Greg asked in amusement and a bit of worry as he watched his friend chug down his drink. "You have no idea," he replied wearily as he turned his attention to the, in his mind, unwelcome third person at their table. "John Watson." He said stiffly as he held his hand out to shake. "Vivienne Lestrade" she replied timidly, barely touching his outstretched hand. John's eyebrows shot up at both the name and the French accent that accompanied it. Already anticipating this reaction, Greg jumped in with an explanation. "Cousins," he supplied, "a friend of hers is in the hospital and she came over to see them. I brought her along because I thought she could use a drink." John let out a sigh of relief, hoping Greg wouldn't notice. _Cousins_ , he repeated in his mind, _I'm an idiot_. "I'm sorry to hear that," he said to Vivienne, "So that's why you were there earlier, yeah?" he directed his question to the older man. "She didn't want to go alone," Greg said with a knowing glint in his eye. John wasn't sure he wanted to know what the DI was thinking.

The conversation after that was rather forced and polite until Vivienne excused herself to head back to her hotel. Greg went with her to make sure she found a cab. John was lost in his thoughts and barely noticed the other man return until another pint was set in front of him. "I saw you, you know." Greg said with a smirk as he watched John's face pale and then redden in quick succession. "I…well…I was just…" John trailed off, unsure of how to justify his actions. The knowing look was back in Greg's eye and John got the feeling that even if he had an excuse that it would be seen through instantly. Anger swallowing his embarrassment, he squared his shoulders and looked Greg in the eye. "And?" he said, challenging the older man. Greg looked at him like he was stupid before grabbing the back of John's neck and smashing their lips together.  
The shorter man was so stunned it took a few seconds to respond, but when he did he gave as good as he got, letting out a low moan when Greg licked John's lower lip, silently asking for entrance, which the shorter man gladly gave. But before either could really get into it, John regained some of his sense and remembered where they were and pulled back panting, momentarily reveling in the sight of Greg looking as dazed from their kiss as he felt. "What was that?" he asked. Greg, now recovered, smirked. It took all of the soldier's extensive self-control to not kiss that smirk right off his face. "Well if I kept waiting for you to make the first move I'd be dead before the first date," He quipped.  
John stared, dumbstruck. "What?" he asked intelligently. Greg suddenly looked unsure of himself, "I thought…" he cleared his throat, "I thought that's what you wanted." John realized his mistake. "No! I mean, yes, of course that's what I want. I just didn't think you were interested, " he said quickly. Greg looked relieved, and let out a low chuckle that sent a shiver down John's spine, "I've been interested in you since Lauriston Gardens, seeing you after Sherlock left looking for all the world like the lost soldier you were. I never said anything because I was married and one cheater in the relationship was enough," he paused and looked down at the table, "plus I thought, you know…you and Sherlock…" he trailed off. Now it was John's turn to laugh, "I have no idea why everyone thought that, honestly! Sherlock was a great guy, but he was more like a brother than anything else." Greg looked up, and John took the opportunity to cup his cheek and press a soft kiss to his slightly chapped lips.

When they separated John glanced at the time, 9:15. "So, would you rather I take you to dinner first or skip straight to the shagging?" he said with a smirk. Greg threw back his head and let out a proper full-bellied laugh that warmed John down to his toes. "Or," Greg started when he'd calmed down enough, "we can get takeaway and see how long it takes before you snap and jump me." John eyes got a mischievous glint that had Greg thinking maybe he wasn't the one in danger of being jumped. "You're on," John growled. They grabbed their jackets and left the pub hand-in-hand.

John woke up the next morning to the feeling of something shifting around behind him. Looking over his shoulder brought the previous night back to him, and he smiled. Thinking it over he wasn't actually sure who'd been jumped first, but he did recall Greg's wandering hands in the cab back to his flat and his own light teasing kisses on Greg's lips and neck. The arm around his waist tightened and he heard a deep content sigh just behind his left ear. "What's for breakfast?" Greg asked sleepily. John turned to face _his_ lover and the mischievous glint that returned to his eye woke Greg fully. "Well," he said slowly, "we could eat the takeaway that's still sitting in the kitchen, or…" he paused as he rolled on top of Greg and supported himself with his elbows, "we could finish what we started last night." He shifted so Greg could feel which of the two options he preferred. Greg grabbed John's hips and flipped them quickly. "Breakfast can wait." He said, as he proceeded to ravage John again and remind him just how inadequate his imagination was.


End file.
